


Candy Apples and Sunshine

by Astus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Possessive Dean, Prostitute Sam, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astus/pseuds/Astus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean go to the desert and live in a trailer park. John is on a hunt somewhere. Things happen. Good things. Bad things. Sexy things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy Apples and Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the longest thing that I have ever written. It's for the Wincest Reverse Bang. My talented artist is salmondeane. All credit goes to her for the idea, since I was inspired by her art. Go check out her tumblr for more! The dubious consent in this fic is coercion, there is no violence involved with the sex.

This fic has a soundtrack! It was created by my brilliant artist. Here it is:

Songs by Lizzy Grant (Lana Del Ray)

[Yayo](https://youtu.be/oMyuWOoavZ0)

[Trash](https://youtu.be/AwL7f57cDJY)

[Hundred Dollar Bill](https://youtu.be/1krAaAdPXQw)

_SAM_

It could have been worse. The trailer park was in the desert, and spread out. Each trailer had their own yard. Some were even fenced in. The trailer their Dad drove them up to was, of course, the most rundown trailer among them. It was a dingy gray that had once probably been white. Some of the windows were taped up, and the stairs that led to the door were cracked from expanding and contracting from the heat and the cold.

They were about an hour and a half away from Los Angeles, in a little town in the high desert of the Mohave. Sam liked the heat of California. He liked the vastness. He liked the way the snow-topped mountains surrounded them in the Valley. It felt like he had space. It was an illusion. He would never have real space. There would always be too many nights in the claustrophobic confines of the Impala, trying to sleep scrunched up in the backseat, long legs pressed up against Dean's body. But it was an illusion that Sam appreciated. Sometimes, he enjoyed the lie. No, it was more than that. He needed the lie. Like he needed the lie of a mother's love, when he had never remembered experiencing it.

“Home, sweet home,” Sam muttered in the backseat of the Impala, with the smoke of Dean's lit cigarette floating back from the front seat. At least it was a real house this time and not some cockroach infested hotel room with suspiciously stained sheets.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean said as he got out of the car. “Help me get our bags.”

Sam got out, and stretched, his hands flexing as he reached as high as he could upwards. He lowered his arms, rolled his shoulders, and looked over at Dean. Dean was looking back, and there was something in his eyes that Sam couldn't place. He cocked his head at Dean, who shook his, and looked away. Sam felt like he had missed something important.

His dad was unlocking the front door. “Get the bags, boys,” he called out.

“Even yours?” Sam couldn't help but ask. He doubted his dad was staying longer than he had to. The hunt, the mission came first. He always made it clear that strangers were more important than his own sons.

“Sam,” Dean's voice was admonishing. And Sam felt petty, like a pouting child.

“I'm staying a few days with you boys. Got to get you settled in school, Sam. See about getting a car.”

“You're gonna leave the Impala with me, sir?”

Dad smiled. “I can trust you to take care of her.”

It wasn't a question, but Dean answered anyway. “Yes, sir.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he was happy for Dean.

The trailer had two bedrooms, and two beds. Sam and Dean had shared beds before, but that was before. Before Sam had started to have feelings about his brother. Feelings that made Sam's cock hard, and left him aching. It was cool, Sam could do this. Their dad would mostly be away, anyway. Dean could sleep in his room. Yeah. It was going to be fine.

It was not fine. That night Sam slept beside Dean. Or more accurately layed awake beside Dean. He tried to take up the least amount of space that was possible. He didn't want the temptation that was Dean's skin touching him. He didn't want the feelings that branded him a freak. All he wanted was peace. Sleep eventually came for him, but peace never did.

The next day Sam started school. It was just like any other school that Sam had gone to over the years. His dad dropped him off at the entrance.  
“Have a good day, Sam. Stay safe.”

Sam nodded. There were groups of students standing around the dusty yard. Sam could already see the cliques. The popular kids huddled around the parking lot. They were pretty, with perfect teeth, and perfect cars. Sam felt himself sneering. These kids had no idea how hard everybody else had it. They showed off their privilege like jewelry, it glittered in the sunlight. The nerdy kids were grouped by the school doors. They carried their books, and slouched in their unfashionable clothes. Sam wished he fit in with them. Wished he fit in with anyone.

Instead, Sam took his place with the loners. The freaks. They disappeared into the brick walls, into their cars, hoping no one saw them. Then no one could see their worthlessness. Sam leaned against the fence that surrounded the school, and waited for the doors to open. He hoped this school would be different despite appearances. He hoped he could breathe here.

The bell rang, and the students filed in. Sam followed. It seemed like he was always following.

The office was small with a woman in a pantsuit that manned the desk. Sam smiled at her, and gave her his best innocent puppy dog look. “Hello, ma'am. I'm Sam Winchester, a new student here.”

“Of course. We've been expecting you, Sam. Your father called us a few days ago,” she smile crookedly at him. She handed him a few papers. “Here's your schedule. Your transcripts were sent over yesterday, and I must say, we were impressed. You'll notice you're mostly in advanced classes. There's also a map of the school, the cafeteria menu, and a little information about the activities we have to offer, like sports and clubs. Oh, and your locker assignment and combination. We hope your happy here, Sam.”

Sam felt a little overwhelmed, but pleased.

“I'm Mrs. Sawyer. Come see me if you have any questions.”

“I will,” Sam responded.

The school wasn't that hard to navigate. It was small. Sam appreciated the small class sizes, and the more challenging subject matter in the advanced classes. There was a guy in his chemistry class, Tom, who seemed pretty cool. He was a bit of an outcast too. Sam had sat next to him, took notes, and tried to ignore everyone else. Tom would have none of that.

“Pssst,” the kid next to him had whispered.

Sam ignored him.

“Hey, new kid,” he had whispered again, then started making clicking noises with his tongue.

Sam had been annoyed enough to look over. “Yeah?”

“My name's Tom.”

“Sam.”

“Well, Sam, everybody at school pretty much sucks. You wanna be my lab partner?”

“Don't you already have one?” Sam asked. He figured he must, since it was the middle of the year.

“Yeah, but he sticks me with all the work. And you'll need one. I'll tell Mr. Matthews that I'll volunteer to be yours.”

“What will your partner do?”

“He'll be fine. I promise,” Tom smiled at him.

Sam had agreed. Overall, it had been a pretty good day. Much better than Sam had expected.

Sam walked home. The wind was gusting. Tumbleweeds were blowing across the green fields on Sam's route. The desert was more green than Sam had expected. There were even flowers. Little yellow ones, and purple ones. They filled in the spots between the green. There was still the sand that Sam had expected, but it didn't take up the whole space. Didn't spread as far as the eye could see. Didn't engulf Sam in a vast, arid wasteland. Sam felt hope. Maybe life here wouldn't be bad. Maybe it would even be good.

When Sam got home, his father was already gone, and there was a note on the kitchen table. So much for his dad staying for a couple of days. He read the note. 

 _Sam,_  
_Got a job at a mechanic's. I'll be back in time to make dinner._  
_Dean_

Sam sighed. Another town, same old shit.

As the days passed, Sam got closer to Tom. He was funny, and he liked Sam. That was enough to build a friendship on. Tom also seemed to be somewhat of an outcast. He was poor. His shoes were scuffed, his clothes a little too big. He didn't fit in with the shiny white sneakers that walked around the school. But he fit in with Sam's hand-me-down boots pretty well. They talked about movies, books, and the sub par cafeteria food that they both secretly liked.

One day, Tom invited Sam over to his house, while they were eating overly salted spaghetti. “You can meet my brother. He's pretty cool,” he coaxed. It didn't take much for Sam to agree.

Sam was surprised to find out that Tom and Richard, Tom's brother, lived near him, in the same trailer park area. Their trailer was up the road a little from Sam's. Sam pointed out their trailer to Tom.

“We're neighbors,” Richard exclaimed. “How cool is that? I'll have to come over to your place sometime.”

“Sure,” Sam grinned at him.

Tom's trailer was better looking. It was wide, and the color of the desert sand. The windows were clean and unbroken, and the trim looked like it had been freshly painted a dusky orange.

They went in to find a man spread out on the couch.

“Richard, this is Sam,” Tom said, gesturing between Sam and the man on the couch.

Sam thought Richard was pretty. Not Dean pretty. Dean had a feminine quality to his features, with his long dark eyelashes and his full pouty lips. Not Richard. Richard had a chiseled jaw, and a broad nose. He was pale. But his complexion did not serve to make him look delicate. It just emphasized the harshness of his features. Brought them into stark relief, rather than shadow them with a tan. He looked at Sam like Sam was worth knowing. Like Sam was someone important.

“Hey,” Richard said.

“Hey,” Sam muttered, and looked down. His hair fell into his eyes. 

“Guess what, Richard? We're neighbors with Sam,” Tom said.

“Is that right?” Richard said, while he was looking at Sam.

Sam shivered.

“Come on, Sam. Let's go to my room. I've got a ton of video games,” Tom said as he started dragging Sam into a hallway.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Sam,” Sam heard Richard call out.

“Yeah, you too,” he was able to get out before Tom shut the door of his room, and demanded all of his attention.

After that, Tom started to come over to Sam's house more. It took a few weeks for Dean to meet him.

“My brother's home,” Sam told Tom as they walked up to Sam's house.

“Dean, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I should meet him. You met mine. A brother for a brother,” Tom said.

Sam grinned over at him. “C'mon, man,” he said, as he pushed Tom up the steps to the door.

When the door closed behind them, Dean called out, “Sammy, c'mere!”

Sam motioned for Tom to follow him, as he went into the kitchen where Dean's voice was calling for him. His head was buried in the fridge.

“So, I was thinking we'd order in a pizza. There's nothing in here,” Dean said.

“Dean,” Sam said.

Dean poked his head out of the fridge. “Yeah?”

“This is Tom,” Sam said, gesturing to his friend.

“Hey, nice to meet you,” Dean nodded to Tom. “Pizza?”

“Yeah, Dean. Pizza.”

“Can I stay for dinner?” Tom asked.

“Sure, man. The more the merrier,” Dean answered.

Sam and Tom went into Sam's room.

Later, when they were having a Hawaiian pizza (the only way Sam could get Dean to eat fruit except for pie, which totally didn't count), there was a knock on the door. When Dean answered it, Richard was standing on the other side.

“Who are you?” Dean asked.

“That's my brother,” Tom responded.

“Richard,” Richard said, as he held out his hand for Dean to shake.

Dean did. “Dean,” he reciprocated.

“What are you doing here?” Tom asked his brother.

“Wanted to tell you that I wasn't going to be home tonight, and to find your own dinner. But I see you already have that covered.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, keep eating. I'll see you tomorrow,” Richard said. Before he left, he looked at Sam. “Hi, Sam. I'll see you soon.” Then he left.

Dean frowned after him, and Sam shook off the weight of his stare.

The next time Sam went over to Tom's, Richard insisted that they stay in the living room with him and watch a movie.

“You never spend time with me anymore,” he said to Tom, with his eyes on Sam.

“All right,” Tom agreed.

“You should go make the popcorn, and bring us some sodas,” Richard ordered Tom.

Tom rolled his eyes, but obeyed.

Richard motioned to the couch. “Have a seat, Sam.”

Sam sat, and was surprised when Richard sat down beside him. Right beside him, with his thigh pressing up against Sam's. His stretched out his arm behind Sam, and propped it up on the back of the couch.

“How's school going?” Richard asked.

“Fine,” Sam answered.

Richard leaned in, breathed in Sam's ear, “just fine?” His hand went to Sam's upper thigh.

Sam shifted on the couch, and tried to put a little space between them, but found he was right up against the arm. “Yeah, just fine,” he snapped a little.

Sam thought Richard was attractive, was a little flattered by his interest, but he did not like his personal space infringed on.

“Could you back off a little?” Sam asked.

Richard laughed. He lifted his hand, and ran his fingers through Sam's hair. “Of course, darlin,” Richard drawled. “All you had to do was ask.”

By the time Tom came back in the room, Richard was sitting on the other end of the couch, at a respectable distance away.

“You guys ready?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, man. I'm ready,” Richard replied, eyes again on Sam.

Sam was uncomfortable the rest of the night.

Sam blew Tom off at school the next day. He didn't feel like seeing Richard's sprawling form. Didn't feel like feeling Richard's eyes on him. He just wanted to be with Dean. But when he got home, Dean wasn't there. Probably still at work. Oh well. Maybe he could he have dinner waiting on Dean. Not that he knew how to cook much. That had always been Dean's job. Maybe boxed mac 'n' cheese. He could handle that.

He put his stuff by the kitchen table, and searched the cabinets. He found the box and carefully read the instructions. It didn't seem too hard, and while he waited for the water to boil he could start on his homework. When he was getting the butter out of the fridge, he found a half pack of hot dogs. Score. He added them to the pasta. By the time he was done making dinner and doing his homework, Dean still wasn't at home. No way he was still at work, it was going on seven. Decided to hit the bar then.  
Sam ate in front of the television, and left Dean's share on the stove. He could eat when he came back. Sam went to bed early.

He woke up around two, and Dean was in bed beside him. He must have drunkenly stumbled into bed. Not thinking about the other empty room. He was shirtless, tousled, beautiful. He was like a god. Loki, if Sam had to pick one. The god of fire. The god of Sam's fire.

Sam slid his hand under the covers, as he tried not to jar Dean laying next to him. Once he had his hand under his pants, on his dick, he looked over at Dean to make sure that he was still sleeping. He was. His long eyelashes were resting against his freckled-dusted cheeks, his chest was moving steadily up and down, and his arm was resting in between them. Sam's gaze was drawn to Dean's hand resting loosely curled up beside him. It contrasted with the dingy sheets with its creamy porcelain appearance, the nails were short, practical. They reminded Sam of Dean cleaning his gun, fixing his car, and swinging a shovel to dig up graves. They reminded Sam of competence. Sam held his breath and slid one of his fingers of his left hand (his right was still holding his dick) into the palm of Dean's hand. It was callused, rough, and Sam's breath hitched, and he grew harder in his fingers. He watched Dean as he started to stroke his palm. His dick was pulsing now, demanding his attention, and Sam gave it. Now he was stroking with both hands. It was the barest of touches, the softest of pressures, but it only took him a few minutes to come into his palm. Sam took his hand out of pants, and imagined Dean's grassy eyes open and watching him when he licked it off.

The next morning Sam was ashamed. He forgot all the poetry that he had surrounded Dean with. Instead, he came up with a reasonable explanation. He was pretty sure that he was just gay. Just because he jacked off to Dean didn't mean anything. Didn't mean he wanted to fuck his brother. He just wanted to fuck a guy. It was natural that would transfer to Dean. Dean was a guy, he was sexually experienced, and he was close. They never had any privacy, never had a space to call their own, it made sense that Sam would get that mixed up. Weren't most teenagers big bags of hormones? Sam was like any other normal teenager who just so happened to be gay. He needed to be around other boys. Boys that weren't related to him. Boys he could date. He would stop blowing Tom off.

_DEAN_

Dean knew that there was something going on with Sam. He just didn't know what. He was always over at that Tom's house. Tom was okay, but he didn't care much for Richard. Something about him was off. He was too familiar with Sam. Touched him too much. Dean had seen them once when Richard was talking to Sam without Tom around. Richard had been close to Sam, with his hand on his shoulder. Sam's body had been a little tense. Dean had just gotten a weird vibe.

Dean knew he was biased. He might not have seen what he thought he had. His jealousy might have influenced him. He ached with love for his Sammy. He wanted to skim his hands over his long legs, wanted to taste Sam's tongue with his own, wanted to cuddle up to him and breathe in the scent of his hair. He didn't think it was wrong. How could it be? Sam was his, and he was Sam's. He was just waiting for Sam to catch up. Because as much as he wanted Sam, he would never make the first move. He would never pressure Sam. It had to be Sam's choice.

But on days like this, he couldn't help but want Sam to go ahead and make that choice already. Days when he was off work, and able to persuade Sam to hang out with him. They were out in the yard, sunbathing. Dean was drinking a beer. Sam was shirtless. Sweat was dripping down from the nape of his neck, sliding down his spine, disappearing into his shorts. Dean wanted to follow it with his mouth. Wanted to drown in Sam's sweat, his scent, his taste. His cock started to stiffen in his jeans. He eased up from his chair.

“I need to go use the can,” he told Sam.

Sam wrinkled his nose. “Too much information, Dean.”

“I'd thought you want to know about my bowel movements, little brother. Don't you care about my health at all?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said as he waved Dean off.

Dean took his time going inside, ambling without hurry. But when he got in the trailer, he moved quickly to the kitchen window and opened the blinds. Then, he unbuttoned his jeans, and took his cock out. Sam was in the same position, sprawled over the patch of sand that was considered a lawn, with his back to the sun and long legs stretching on into forever. Dean started to stroke his cock. He thought about what it would be like to suck Sam's cock. Sam would have his hands in his hair, and his mouth would be open in pleasure. He would tell Sam how good he tasted, how well he fit into Dean's mouth. He would tease Sam, bringing him to the edge over and over again, until Sam was begging. Begging with the same voice that used to beg him not to go to school. Not to leave him at home with Dad. And Dean would quit teasing, and tell Sam to fuck his mouth. Sam would be reluctant at first. He wouldn't want to hurt Dean. He would have to coax him into it, reassure him, and finally Sam would let go. He would fuck Dean's mouth, hit the back of Dean's throat, and Dean would swallow around him. Swallow his come when it spilled into his mouth, swallow all of Sam.

Dean groaned. His balls tightened. He started jacking his dick faster, his eyes focused on Sam. He came over his fist, Sam's name exhaled on a sigh. He went to the bathroom, washed his hands, tucked his dick back in his jeans, and told himself to be satisfied with the fantasy.

_SAM_

Tom hadn't been at school today. Sam was worried, and felt a little guilty for ditching him the day before. He decided to go check on him at his house. He could catch him up with chemistry at least. But went he got there, Tom wasn't there.

“He's out,” Richard said. “Doing a few things for me.”

“Okay, I'll just come back later.” But when Sam went to leave, Richard grabbed him by his wrist.

“You should stay,” Richard coaxed. “We could get to know each other.”

“I'm not sure. . .” Sam trailed off.

“C'mon, Sam. I don't bite.”

Against his better judgement, Sam went inside.

It didn't take long for Richard to get him on the couch, pressed all up against him. Sam knew what Richard wanted from him.

He wasn't a boy, though. A boy like Tom. That was Sam's first thought. This was a man. A man that was currently running his large hand over the inside of Sam's thigh.

“C'mon, Sammy, let me make you feel good,” Richard purred.

“Don't call me Sammy.”

“Whatever you want.”

Maybe he could close his eyes, lay back, and think of Dean. Maybe he could forget Dean entirely. Sam nodded.

“Can I kiss you?”

Sam nodded again. Richard leaned forward and pressed his mouth into Sam's. Right away Sam knew that he couldn't pretend this man was Dean. His mouth was wrong. The lips were too thin, too dry. He kissed too softly. Dean would be possessive, forceful. Sam opened his mouth allowing Richard's tongue inside. He tasted like wine. Richard pulled back.

“See. Not too scary, babydoll.”

Richard took his hands in his, and placed them on the buttons of his shirt.

“Undress me.”

Sam's hands were shaking. It took him several seconds of fumbling to get the first button undone. All the while, Richard was silent, watching him. Sam unbuttoned the rest of the buttons as fast as his shaking hands would allow, revealing a narrow strip of pale hairless skin down Richard's chest.

“Good boy,” Richard praised as he again took Sam's hands. “My turn.”

Richard's hands were far more efficient than Sam's had been. Practiced and concise. Sam felt exposed as a novice as his body became more exposed. Richard went a step farther than he had allowed Sam, and pushed the shirt from Sam's broad but thin shoulders. Sam wanted to look away, wanted to cover himself, but he forced himself to stay still, to meet Richard's eyes.

“You're so beautiful, honey. I knew you would be,” Richard said as his eyes roamed over Sam's chest. “Take my shirt off, Sam.”

Sam brought his hands up, and pushed the shirt off of Richard's shoulders. For the first time, he felt lust go through him, as he saw the wide muscled shoulders that the shirt had concealed. Sam wanted to touch them.

“Can I touch you?” Sam wasn't sure why he asked, but for some reason it felt necessary.

“Of course. I would like that very much.”

Sam ran his hands over Richard's shoulders. They were warm and hard. Sam leaned forward and put his mouth on them. Tasted them by running his tongue over the swells and dips across his shoulders, over his collarbones. They tasted liked salt. Richard moaned. Sam felt himself harden in his jeans. He started to drag his mouth farther down, over his stomach, but Richard pushed him away.

“Not just yet, honey. Let's get you out of those jeans first.”

Richard took Sam by the hand and led him to his bedroom. It was a dark room, full of grays and blues. Soothing, Sam thought. Like a thunderstorm. Richard pushed him onto his big bed. It engulfed him with its size, with its softness. Richard grinned at him.

“Now for those pants.”

He untied Sam's shoes, pulled them off, and gently pulled off Sam's socks. His fingers touched the arches of Sam's long, narrow feet. “Beautiful.”  
Richard knelt at the end of the bed, grabbed Sam by his ankles, and pulled, sliding Sam across the bed toward him. It made Sam feel small. Richard's fingers found the button and zipper of Sam's jeans, and undid them.

“Lift up for me, darling.”

Sam did, and Richard pulled down his jeans. Sam wasn't wearing underwear because none had been clean. Laundry day was tomorrow.

“Aren't you a naughty boy?” Richard said with his eyebrow cocked. Sam blushed, certain that it looked like that he had planned this. That he was a seducer of men. Aphrodite rising from the oceans. Sam rising from the bed, when Richard skimmed his mouth down his chest. He felt beautiful. Wanted. Cherished.

Then Richard's mouth was on his cock. His tongue wrapped around the head, his mouth made an obscene slurping sound that Sam loved. Sam whined in the back of his throat. His eyelashes fluttered. The warm suction on his cock was the best thing that Sam had ever felt. It only took him a minute or so to come, spilling his seed in Richard's mouth. When Sam looked down and saw that Richard swallowed as he came, it was like he was swallowing Sam's impurities. Swallowing Sam's sins. For a few seconds, Sam felt cleansed. He closed his eyes and relaxed back against the mattress.

“Don't get too comfortable, honey. We're not done yet,” Richard drawled.

Sam heard the click of a bottle and then a long, thin, well-lubricated finger penetrated him. It was uncomfortable, and he squirmed against it.

“Shh, darling, just relax,” Richard's voice whispered. He moved up Sam's body a little, still working his finger inside of him, to kiss him. Their tongues tangled together. Another finger went into Sam's ass. He bit Richard's tongue.

“Fuck,” Richard muttered as he pulled away, his fingers stilling.

Sam was horrified. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.”

“I can't believe I did that. I am so sorry,” Sam said, panicked.

Richard looked at him. His brown eyes sincere, intense. “It's fine, Sam. You just gotta relax for me.”

Sam nodded.

“Okay, let's try this again.” Richard lowered his mouth again and gently kissed and nipped at Sam's lips. His tongue swiped across them. Sam parted his lips, and Richard's tongue swept inside, only to withdraw. His mouth then moved over Sam's jaw, nipping with his teeth, and then soothing with his tongue. Sam's world became Richard's mouth. Richard's teeth. Richard's tongue. And then he felt Richard's fingers start to move inside of him again. This time it just felt like fullness. Not uncomfortable, not pleasurable, just there filling him up. It went on for a few minutes, and then Richard added a third finger. The pressure increased, but it wasn't painful. And then Sam felt a spike of pleasure. It startled him. He moaned, and squirmed, and tried to force Richard's fingers deeper into his ass.

“There you go, honey. So beautiful on my fingers. I can't wait to see how you look on my cock.”

Sam whimpered. “Yeah, please.”

After a few more thrusts of his fingers, Richard pulled them out. Sam panted and stared up at the ceiling. He heard Richard putting on the condom, and then he felt Richard's cock nudging his ass. He closed his eyes and waited. Then Richard's cock was in his ass. Filling him up more than his fingers had. He was going slow but steady. Slow and steady wins the race, Sam thought. He giggled.

“You alright, darling?” Richard's concerned voice asked.

“Yeah,” Sam managed to get out. Then Richard was in him. All the way in him. He bent down to kiss him.

“You feel so good, Sam. You take my cock so good. Like you were made for it. Such a good boy.”

Sam felt pleased. Almost proud. He might not hunt as well as his family, but he could take a cock. He could make someone feel good. He could do something right. He smiled up at Richard. Richard smiled back and began to move. It was good. Richard's cock hitting his prostate over and over. Sam wrapped his legs around Richard's hips, and titled his own hips up a little more and rocked. He was hard again. He reached for his cock, and Richard batted it away.

“I'll take care of you, Sam. Let's see if you can come from my cock.”

And all Sam wanted was to please him, so he agreed. After a few more strokes, Richard's hips started to stutter, and slam harder into his.

“I'm close, honey. Come with me.”

Sam tried, he really did, but by the time Richard had came, Sam was still hard. He had failed, and hadn't managed to reach orgasm on Richard's cock alone.

“I'm sorry. I didn't come,” Sam admitted.

Richard smiled down at him. He reached down and palmed Sam's cock. “That's okay. We'll work on it.” And then he jacked Sam off. Sam promised himself he would do better next time.

Sam kept seeing Richard. He tried to forget Dean in Richard's arms. Tried to convince himself that all that was between them were hormones. Whenever Richard called, Sam showed up. Whenever Sam showed up, Richard was willing. He knew Richard was too old for him. He knew that Richard manipulated him into that first time, a little. But he also knew he went willingly. He begged for Richard's cock. He didn't even like Richard most of the time, even though he liked what Richard could do for him. It made him feel dirty afterward, in the aftermath of orgasms and come. He had stopped hanging out with Tom. He always made an excuse. He never saw him when he went over to their place. If he was home, they went elsewhere. Like the park, or the movie theater, or some deserted parking lot. He had started snapping at Dean. It seemed like he was always angry with his brother. The bitch of it was, Sam didn't even know why.

Sam came home from school one day. Dean was already there. He was going to go to Richard's later, but he wanted to see his brother, hang out with him.

“Hey, Dean,” he yelled out as he came in.

“Hey, I'm in here,” Dean yelled back.

Dean was laying in their bed, reading one of Sam's books. His shirt had ridden up a little, and Sam could see a sliver of freckled skin above his waistband. It was all Sam could see. He wondered what his brother would do if he licked him there. Just let his tongue glide back and forth over the exposed skin.

“Sam,” Dean said. It sounded like it wasn't the first time that he had tried to get his attention.

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam said.

“You okay, man? Seems like you've been off for a few weeks. Something going on at school?”

“No, everything's fine.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Dean asked.

“I said nothing's wrong, Dean,” Sam raised his voice.

Dean held his hands up. “All right. Sure.”

Sam took a deep breath. It wasn't fair to take out his frustration on Dean.

“I'm a freak,” Sam found himself saying without his permission.

Dean sat up on the bed. “You're not. You're just not like other people.”

“Yeah, an abnormality. A freak. Other people don't want what I want.”

“And what do you want, Sam?”

“You wouldn't understand. You would hate me.”

“No matter what you told me, I could never hate you.”

“You'll be furious at me. Disgusted by me.”

“I'm not gonna promise to not get mad. But I can promise to listen. Trust me. Please.”

Sam figured he would start with the lesser of the two evils, see how Dean took it, and go from there. “I'm gay,” he said, looking at the ground.

“Okay.”

Sam's head popped up. “What do you mean okay?”

“I mean okay. I suspected. I don't hate you. I'm not mad at you. Not even a little.”

Sam was relieved. But he knew he wasn't done. He had to get it all out. “I'm in love with you.”

Dean turned his face away. Sam could feel himself starting to cry. This was it. He had lost his brother. He started for the door. He didn't know where he was going. Just that he had to get out. He had to be able to breathe.

“Sam.”

Sam's hands were on the knob. He paused.

“Sam,” Dean's voice was more insistent. Sam didn't turn around. He didn't think he could handle whatever Dean was about to say. Then, Dean's hand was on his shoulder, turning him around.

“Fucking finally. I've been waiting forever, sweetheart,” Dean breathed. Dean bent to kiss him but Sam turned his face away. He had thought that Dean's rejection would hurt the most. He was wrong. Dean feeling the same was way worse.

“Sam?”

“We can't do this, Dean,” Sam said. He hated saying it. He wanted to curl up in Dean's arms and let him take the pain away. He wanted to go back in time before this moment so he wouldn't feel this loss.

“Why not? Is it the incest?”

“No. Well, yeah. A little. But I kind of accepted that a little while ago. It makes sense, you know? Psychologically. We went through puberty trapped in small motel rooms together. We were encouraged to not form any lasting connections. It makes sense that that this might happen.”

“Yeah. But I know how you always wanted normal. I don't think this qualifies.”

“No. Might as well drown in ten feet of water than six right?”

“Then why can't this happen?”

“Because you don't know everything about me. You wouldn't want this, wouldn't want me if you knew,” Sam confessed.

“I want you even though your my brother, dude. I don't anything can trump that.”

“Trust me. This does.”

“Sam-,” Dean started.

Sam shook his head, and walked out the door. He couldn't drag Dean down to hell with him. His sins were his own. Sam went to Richard.

Richard met Sam outside of his trailer. There was a strange car parked in the driveway. Sam figured that Richard had to cancel.

“Hey, honey. I've got company inside,” Richard told him.

“That's okay. I can come back later,” Sam turned to go.

Richard caught his hand. “No, babe. Come inside. Stay. I told Jeremy all about you. He really wants to meet you.”

Richard was introducing him to his friends? That was like an actual relationship, right? Maybe Richard did see him as a boyfriend. Sam flushed. “Okay,” he said.

“You're so adorable. Such a good boy for me.”

Sam was happy with the praise. He hoped Richard would keep holding his hand. Richard tugged him up the stairs and into the house.

Jeremy was sitting on the couch. “You weren't lying, Rich. He's beautiful.”

“And all mine,” Richard smiled. He turned Sam's face toward him, and kissed him. His tongue battled with Sam's. Sam leaned into the kiss, and then remembered the stranger on the couch. He pulled back, embarrassed. When he looked over, it was to Jeremy stroking his cock through his jeans.

“You don't mind if he watches do you, honey?”

“I. . .I don't. . .”

“Come on. He'll just watch. Isn't that right, Jeremy?”

“Yeah, man. Of course. No plans to touch,” Jeremy said as he held his hands up.

“It would make me so happy. Don't you wanna make me happy?” Richard asked.

“I'm not sure if. . .” Sam stuttered out.

“That's okay. You can go home, Sam. I should have known better than to get involved with someone so young. You can't handle an adult relationship yet.”

“No! No, I'll do it,” Sam agreed.

“There's my good boy,” Richard whispered into his ear.

“You wanna move this into the bedroom?” Richard asked Jeremy.

“Hell yeah,” Jeremy answered.

Sam told himself that when Richard kissed him, that this was nothing he hadn't done before. He would just forget that Jeremy even existed. He could pretend that they were alone. He could do this for Richard. So, when Richard took off his clothes, he ignored the sound of a zipper going down in the corner. When he sucked Richard's cock, he blocked out the sound of flesh stroking wet flesh. When Richard ate out his ass, he acted like he couldn't hear the quiet moans that weren't his. But he couldn't ignore the warm hand on his back.

Sam startled, and tried to sit up, but the hand kept him pressed down. He heard Jeremy's voice. Richard was still eating him out.

“I just wanna make you feel good, man. You look too good to not touch you.”

“Richard?” Sam asked.

The tongue in his ass was taken out. “Come on, honey. Be my good boy. We just want to please you. Nothing will happen that you don't want,” Richard coaxed.

Sam paused, which Richard must have taken as consent, because his tongue went back into his ass. Jeremy's hands stroked down his back, over his hips, and then underneath him to fondle his cock. And Sam let his protests die. It was just one time. And Jeremy's hand did feel good.

They had him multiple times that night, in multiple ways.

Richard fucked him, while he sucked Jeremy's dick. Jeremy fucked him, while he sucked Richard's dick. Sam liked that. He liked having a dick in his mouth. He liked the feeling of power it gave him. In the moment that Richard or Jeremy came down his throat, he felt vindicated. He felt worthy. He also liked the feeling of being filled up, like if they went any deeper, they would come out of Sam's belly. At some point, they were fucking him at the same time. Two cocks were in his hole. They were behind him, and occasionally Sam could hear mouths meet mouths in between groans.

He looked over his shoulder and saw them kissing, as they were moving in Sam's body. One of Richard's hands was behind Jeremy, and Jeremy was groaning every time he pulled back from Sam. Sam realized that Richard's fingers must be inside of Jeremy, stretching him open. Hitting his prostate. Sam didn't know why, but he felt jealous. He wondered if Richard had been fucking anyone else beside him. When they broke apart, Richard saw him looking at them, and he grinned at Sam.

Sam turned around again, but he could still hear Richard's voice. Hear him talking to Jeremy.

“You like that? My fingers in your ass while you fuck his sweet hole?” Richard asked.

“Yeah,” Jeremy groaned.

“Maybe I should fuck you next. Sam can suck you off. What do you think?”

“Yeah, yeah. Please,” Jeremy answered.

And Sam knew it would happen, and he was turned on despite himself.

“Come for me, honey,” Richard whispered.

And he came screaming.

“Good boy.”

Later that night found Sam passed out in Richard's bed. He was awoken by Richard calling his name. Sam was groggy, and looked around to find Jeremy gone. He was covered in come. When he rose from the sheets, they stuck to his body.

“Time to take a shower, honey. Don't want your brother to worry,” Richard said.

Sam nodded, peeled the sheet off, and walked to the bathroom. He threw up in the shower. Heaving into the drain, while he sat on his knees, shivering despite the warmth of the water. Even though his trailer was close, barely a three minute walk, it still felt like it would take a long time to get there. He knew Dean would make everything better. He just had to tell him, and Dean would take care of everything. But he would also see Sam as he was. Tainted. Impure. Sam knew that he would never tell Dean.  
When Sam got out of the shower, Richard was waiting for him.

“Here's your cut, Sam,” Richard said as he handed him a fistful of dollars.

“My cut of what?”

“Don't be stupid, Sam. You know what for. You know what you're good for.”

And Sam did. He was cold on the walk home, despite the warmth of the night. Richard was right. It was all that Sam was good for.

_DEAN_

“You okay, man?” Dean asked one day after Sam got home from school. The kid looked a little broody, staring out the window.

“Yeah,” Sam muttered.

“You sure. Haven't seen Tom around much.”

“I'm fine. Tom is fine. Everything is fine.”

What about Richard?” Dean asked.

Dean thought he saw something in Sam's eyes. Something that flickered when he mentioned Richard's name.

“Do you know something about Richard?” Dean asked.

“No. Why would I know something? I've hardly spoken to the guy.”

Dean studied Sam. He wouldn't quite meet Dean's eyes. He was looking somewhere past his shoulder. And Dean understood that Sam was lying. Now, to figure out why.

“You know you can tell me anything right, Sam?”

“Of course.”

“If Richard's been bothering you-”

“No,” Sam interrupted, “nothing like that.”

Sam was flushed. Sweating. His eyes turned to the ground, and he hid behind his hair. And Dean knew. Or was pretty sure he did. He knew Sam would never tell him. He was determined to be a grown-up, to not need Dean. No way he would confess to something like this, an adult man preying on him. He had to talk to Richard.

Dean leaned against the wall of Richard's trailer. His eyes were narrowed against the smoke of the cigarette that rested in his short, work-roughened fingers. He stood there for a few minutes studying one of the neighbors pink plastic flamingos. They formed a flock around a cheaply made sand box. No, not a flock, a flamboyance. That was what a group of flamingos were called. Sam had told him that. He was such a little nerd.

The door of the trailer squeaked, causing Dean to look over in its direction. Richard was emerging. Dean rolled his shoulders like a prizefighter, and then stepped up to do battle.

“You fucking my little brother?” Dean asked. All he needed was the confirmation. The confirmation that this man had had his hands on Sam. His cock in Sam.

“That's none of your business,” Richard responded.

“Considering my brother is underage, I'd say it's very much my business.”

“You would need proof to get me arrested. Which you don't have.”

“I've got Sam.”

“No, Dean. I'm pretty sure I have Sam.”

Dean wanted to hit him. Punch him right in his grinning face, but he knew that wouldn't help him win any points with Sam. It wasn't just that Sam was his, although he was, it was that Richard was taking advantage of him. Whispering things in his ears, coercing him. If it had been someone else, someone Sam's age, Dean would accept it, he told himself. But he was always a good liar, even to himself. Maybe even especially to himself.

“You need to leave Sam alone,” Dean said.

“That's Sam's decision.”

“No, it's not. I'm in charge of him. He might not like it, but he'll do as I say.”

“I don't think so, Dean. In fact, he does what I say now,” Richard smirked at him. “Everything that I say.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Dean asked.

“Just that your brother's a really exceptional student. He's learned to perform so well for me.”

Dean didn't like the words. Didn't like the images they brought up. But it was the smirk that pushed him over the line that he had drawn for himself. He moved away from the wall, took three long steps, and swung out his fist. It hit Richard's nose with a satisfying crack. Richard fell to the ground. Dean reached down and hauled him up by his black button down shirt. He made sure to meet his eyes.

“You touch my brother again, I start cutting off body parts. It will be slow and bloody, and it will end with you unable to ever fuck another boy like Sam again,” he sneered. He threw Richard back down on the ground, turned his back, and walked away, shaking out his bruised fist.

Dean followed Sam that night. He had a pretty good idea where he was going, and there was no way that he was letting that shit happen anymore. In his book, Richard was a monster. He would have no qualms about killing him. But Sam didn't go to Richard's trailer. He went past it, toward the main paved road. Dean watched as he took out his cell phone, dialed someone, talked for a few minutes, and then hung up. Nothing happened for a little while after that. Then, about twenty minutes from when Sam had walked out the door, a black car pulled up to Sam, who was standing on the side of the road, where the pavement and the dirt kissed each other.

The window of the car rolled down, and Dean caught a glimpse of a man before it rolled back up, and Sam got in the car.

“He does what I say now.”Richard's words came to Dean then, and he knew it was connected. But he had no way of following Sam. The car had too much of a head start. Dean wouldn't be able to catch up. He would just wait for Sam to get home. He would confront him. They would argue. Maybe it would get physical. And they would get past it. He had waited this long. He could wait a couple of more hours.

_SAM_

Sam's hands were nothing like Dean's. Sam's hands were soft, uncallused, quick to show the cold. Dean's hands were tanned, freckled, work roughened, quick to soothe Sam's distress. Sam thought about this as he blew on his hands. They were cold. Red, and stiff. Sam's hands would never measure up to Dean's. His were dirty. Unclean. Could never be scrubbed enough to absolve him. Could never be pure enough to touch Dean's honest skin.

"Hey, baby. Looking for a date?”

Sam stopped curling and uncurling his fists, and looked up at the intruder. He was pretty, polished, smooth. Sam smiled, and looked down coyly, letting his hair fall in his face.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

The john took Sam by his slender dirty hand, leading him to the car that was idling on the curb. In the backseat of his polished big black car Sam's hand acquired one more unremovable stain.

_DEAN_

 

When Sam came home, Dean was waiting for him. It was dark in the living room, except for the lamp that was turned on. Dean was sitting on the couch, beer in hand, and legs spread open. Sam couldn't help the way his gaze darted downward toward Dean's crotch. He looked up, and found Dean looking back at him. Studying him.

“Those are some impressive hickeys, Sam. I hope he wore a condom,” Dean said.

Sam hands went to his throat. They fluttered like a hummingbird, fast and nervous, as he tried to hide the marks that he didn't know he had.

“Were you with Richard?” Dean asked, and his voice was even. Mild.

“No,” Sam answered.

Dean nodded, and stood up. “Who, then?”

Sam shook his head.

“You don't owe me loyalty, if that's what you're worried about. Your body is your own. And you made it clear we aren't together. But I'm worried.”

“There's nothing to worry about.”

“No?” Dean approached him then. He put his hands on Sam's throat, and Sam felt his fingers ghosting over his carotid artery. “Did you want this?”

Sam couldn't answer.

“Did you want this?” Dean repeated.

Sam shook his head. “No.”

“Did Richard make you do this?”

“No. He. . .He told me about this guy. But he didn't force me to do it.”

Dean nodded. “It was just a suggestion, right? Did you get paid for this?”

Sam nodded. He closed his eyes like a child playing peekaboo.

“And does Richard get paid?”

Sam nodded again, eyes still closed.

“You're not to blame here, Sam. You ain't done nothing wrong. This is all on Richard.”

“It wasn't Richard sucking some dude's cock in the back of a car,” Sam retorted. He wanted Dean to know everything. He wanted him to know how far he had come from the little boy who only wanted more Lucky Charms.

Sam turned away. He heard Dean sighing behind him, and then felt Dean's hands on his shoulders.

“Look at me, Sammy.”

Sam didn't turn around.

“Please, Sam.”

That bastard. Dean knew that Sam could never resist his tenderness. Sam turned around, keeping his head down, unable to meet Dean's gaze.

“I want you. I wish I could say that the hooking didn't matter. But it does. It does cause I'm selfish. I don't wanna share you.”

“I know. . .” Sam trailed off. He started again. “I know that I'm. . .dirty.”

“No. No, Sammy. You did what Richard told you to. What you thought you had to. So have I. My hands ain't clean either darlin',” Dean said as he held out his hands, palm up towards Sam. And they weren't clean. There was grease in the creases. But Sam knew there was a difference. Come soaked hands were disgusting, grease stained hands were honorable.

“It's different.”

“Maybe the stains are different. But we're not so different. You don't think I've had sex with people I wasn't in love with? That I didn't care about? Not so different, man.”  
Dean lifted Sam's chin, turning his face up. And then Dean's lips were on his. So soft. Dean's lips were so soft. Dean's tongue swiped across Sam's closed mouth, and Sam opened to him. Desperate for the taste of him. Cigarettes, beer, hard cinnamon candy, and something milder underneath. Something that Sam suspected was just Dean. Sam wondered what he tasted like. Did he taste like the ashes of other men? He had to know. He separated from Dean.

“What do I taste like?”

Dean smiled. “Like candy apples and sunshine.”

_SAM_

Dean sat down on the bed, Sam was standing in front of him. He opened his legs wide and Sam stepped between them. Dean's hands went up, curled around Sam's sharp hipbones that his too short t-shirt exposed.

“Do you want this?” Dean asked.

“I've always wanted this,” Sam answered.

Dean nodded. His thumbs rubbed circles on Sam's skin, his calluses scraping against the jutting bones. Besides the movement of his hands, Dean was still, looking up at Sam, and Sam understood that Dean was waiting. Waiting for Sam to decide. Waiting for Sam's choice. There was no hesitation when Sam bent down and kissed him.

At first Dean was gentle, letting Sam lead, then the pressure increased. Grew firm. Hard.

Sam fell against Dean, and his weight tumbled them onto the bed together. It was awkward. Their boots were still on, weighing down their legs, probably bruising skin when they tumbled against splayed legs. They both laughed. Sam was sure that this was what sex was supposed to be. Joyful. Intense. Lustful.

“One second,” Dean murmured. He moved Sam to the side, sat up, and stripped off his shirt. Sam had seen Dean shirtless countless times, had even been pressed up against him shirtless when they had to sleep in the same bed and the nights were too hot for anything but boxers. But this was Dean shirtless with his mouth on Sam's, and Sam thought he could come from that alone.

Sam sat up and took off his own shirt. He needed to feel Dean without barriers. He leaned back down and took Dean's mouth, groaned into it when he felt their skin collide. Sam thought that, if he could, he'd like to be even closer to his brother. He'd like to crawl inside Dean's skin, become melded with him, like melting wax.

Dean's hands skimmed down his back, over his ass, and stayed. They felt like fire. Sam didn't know how long their tongues explored each other's mouths, before they started using their mouths to explore necks and chests. He did know that Dean liked Sam to use his teeth on his nipples, to tug at them playfully. He also knew he liked Dean's tongue dipping into his bellybutton. Then Dean's hands were on the button of Sam's jeans.

“You sure, Sammy?”

“Yeah.”

Sam's jeans were unbuttoned by Dean's competent, but trembling, hands. His hands were reverent, worshipful as they slid inside Sam's jeans. He didn't touch his cock, but his hips, his hands splayed over them, fingers stroking.

“Wait,” Sam said.

Dean withdrew his hands from Sam's jeans. Sam rolled off the bed, stood up, and stripped his jeans and boxers off the rest off the way.

“Easier access.”

Dean laughed. Sam started to climb back on Dean again.

“Wait,” Dean stopped him. “Come here,” he said, as he sat up.

Sam went over to him, and stopped a few inches in front of him. Dean's hands curled around Sam's cock, and Sam was lost. They slid up and down Sam's length, and Sam thought he must surely have died, because nothing could feel this good. He was wrong. Dean's mouth replaced his hands. It was obvious Dean had never had a cock in his mouth before. He was sloppy, unpracticed. But his green eyes looked up into Sam's as he slid Sam's cock in out of his mouth, and Sam thought he was going to come right fucking then.

“So good, Dean,” he whispered.

Dean stopped for a second to grab lube out of the beside table.

“How do you want to do this?” he asked Sam.

“What?”

“Do you want to top or bottom?”

“Bottom.”

“Are you sure? I could bottom if that's what you wanted.”

“No, Dean. I want your cock inside of me.”

Dean blushed. Sam didn't know it was possible that Dean could blush.

“I've watched some, uh, porn. So I think I know the basics. But I've never done this before. You know, with a dude,” Dean trailed off.

“Are you asking me what to do?”

“Yeah, I guess. I just. . .I want it to be good for you,” Dean mumbled and looked at the floor.

“Okay. I can do that. Lube up your fingers. That's the first rule, lots of lube.”

Dean nodded, opened the bottle and spread lube on two fingers.

“Good. Now, you're going to put one finger in me at first, and work it in and out of my ass. Eventually, you'll get up to three or four fingers. I'll tell you when I'm ready. Make sure to scissor them a bit so my hole stretches. And as a personal preference, it would be nice if you were sucking my cock while you were doing this.”

“So fucking hot, Sam,” Dean groaned.

Sam grinned. Dean's mouth found his cock again, while his finger played with his hole. He eased his finger inside. Sam spread his legs to make it easier for him. His finger felt thick as it started to move in and out of him at a steady pace, matching the pace with his mouth going up and down on Sam's cock. He curled his tongue around the head just as he added in a second finger.

“Fuck, Dean.”

“Feel good, sweetheart?” Dean stopped sucking his cock long enough to ask.

“Yeah.”

Dean stroked in and out with his fingers several more times.

“Another finger, Dean.”

Dean complied and added another thick finger into Sam's ass.

“Bend your fingers,” Sam panted.

Dean did.

“Do you feel anything? Like a gland?”

“Yeah.”

“Rub it with your fingers.”

Dean did this too, and Sam started fucking himself on Dean's fingers, with enthusiasm. Dean had stopped sucking his cock but Sam didn't care.

“Do you need another finger?”

“No. No. Take off your pants.”

Dean pulled out his fingers, unbuttoned his jeans, and wriggled out of them. Sam got a little distracted by the way the muscles of Dean's stomach flexed when he tugged off his pants.

“Sam?”

“Yeah,”Sam responded, eyes still glued to Dean's stomach.

“How do you want to do this?”

Sam considered for a few seconds.

“Lay on your back.”

Dean stretched out on the bed. His cock jutted up, and Sam almost started salivating. He sat down on the bed, and straddled Dean's thighs. He grabbed the lube from where it had been tossed.

“Condom?”

Dean reached over to his jeans, pulled one out of his pocket, and handed it to Sam who quickly opened it and put it on his brother's cock. He then coated it in lube. Dean groaned as Sam's hand stroked up and down his cock. Them Sam rose up and impaled himself on Dean's cock. They both moaned.

Sam started riding his brother's dick slowly. Dean's cock was so thick and filled Sam so well.

“Your cock feels so good,” Sam let Dean know.

Dean's hands were resting on Sam's hips, letting him set the pace. Sam started moving faster and faster till he was bouncing on Dean's cock.

“Fuck. Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned out. One of his hands moved to Sam's cock that was bobbing up and down between his legs. He stroked Sam' the same pace as they were fucking. It was too much for Sam, and then he was coming all over Dean's hand.

“Yeah. Yeah. That's it, sweetheart.” Dean continued stroking Sam's cock until Sam was wrung dry and shuddering. He fell against Dean's chest. Dean waited a second and then flipped them over, and began thrusting into Sam. After just a few thrusts he was coming too, his eyes closed and faced scrunched up. He collapsed, rolled away from Sam, and disposed of the condom.

“Well. Weren't you my good little soldier?” Sam asked.

“So fucking wrong, Sam,” Dean laughed.

_DEAN_

Dean picked the lock, and walked into the trailer. Their dad came back yesterday. They were moving on this weekend. This had to be done now. Dean withdrew the gun that rested in the waistband of his jeans. The house was quiet. He moved silently through the living room towards the hallway. He checked the first closed door he came to. It was Sam's friend, Tom. He was sleeping curled up in bed. Dean stood in the doorway for a second, watching him. Poor kid. Wasn't his fault that his brother was a piece of shit.

He moved on. A few feet down there was another door. Dean opened it. Richard was in bed. He slid into the room, and closed the door behind him.

“Richard,” he called softly.

Richard stirred, and then seemed to settle back into sleep.

“Hey, Dick,” Dean said a bit more loudly.

Richard's eyes blinked open.

“There you are. You see me? Know who I am?” Dean asked.

Richard nodded.

“No. Tell me. So I know you know.”

“Dean, Sam's brother,” Richard responded, his eyes on the gun that Dean was holding.

“That's right. You can probably guess why I'm here.”

“Yeah.”

“Good. That's good. You're a monster, Richard. And it's my job to kill monsters. This is me, doing my job.”

“No. I'll do anything. You want money, I'll-”

“Too late,” Dean interrupted. “You'll never touch anyone else.”

Dean raised the gun, aimed, and shot Richard right between the eyes. The sound was muffled by the silencer.

Dean found Richard's phone. He dialed 911.

“911. What's your emergency?” the voice at the other end asked.

“I'm at 331 50th St. Someone's been shot.”

“Okay. I need you to stay on the line and-”

Dean hung up the phone, and wiped the prints off with his shirt. He then made his way out of the house, and back to Sam.

When he got back, Sam was rubbing his eyes, standing out on the stoop with nothing but his purple dog t-shirt on that swallowed him.

"Where were you, Dean? I missed you.”

Dean leaned down, and kissed Sam. “Just something I had to do. C'mon, Sammy, let's go back to bed.”

_SAM_

From then on, it was Sam and Dean. When their dad came back, Sam thought that Dean might end it, might feel shame in his idol's presence. Might feel confined by monogamy. It didn't end. It just changed. Instead of loud moaning, and shouted proclamations, it became dirty whispers, and hands pressed up against mouths to stifle groans. Their dad kept the truck that he had gotten, giving Dean the Impala, and Sam was grateful. It gave them space. Dean never kept too close behind their father, and Sam would sometimes worship at the altar of his big brother's cock.

They left the desert behind them, wound their way back through Texas. They hustled pool in bars with their fake ID's. Dean flirted a little, but he never touched anyone else. And neither did Sam. They were both happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave comments.


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